breathing in snowflakes
by faithsette
Summary: "On second thought, it might have been better if she was alone. Alone she wouldn't have to face the thoughts circling inside her head about how, despite the displeasure of being stuck in the airport to begin with, she doesn't actually mind having Castle as her blizzard buddy." Snowed in an airport, sometime early season three.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a little something for December, inspired by the fact that I'll be in more than a few airports in the coming months and I'm hoping this isn't my fate. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

This is not at all how today was supposed to pan out.

It was supposed to be a fairly straight forward, routine trip. Go to the airport—where flashing her badge almost doesn't get them through security, and Castle almost buys a ticket just so they can get to the terminal—meet their prime suspect when he gets off of his plane, and take him back to the precinct before he can dart off into the night, disappear onto another flight or hide out in one of his many apparent flop houses. But the weather's taken a sudden turn and the flight that he's supposed to be on, that's supposed to be arriving right about now, has been grounded somewhere in Chicago until it clears up.

"Come on, Castle," she sighs, having just argued with the woman at the front desk for five minutes. It's not _her_ fault that the plane's grounded, thus making Beckett's job harder, and she does feel bad about taking it out on the poor girl who's probably just as tired from the holiday rush. "We'll head back to the precinct, wait the storm out until his plane is set to fly again."

Running a heavy hand over her face, she lets her eyes fall closed for a few seconds before she forces herself to shake it off, accept that this isn't going to be as simple as it could have been. This isn't the first time something's not gone as planned, and it sure as hell won't be the last.

"Uh, Beckett," Castle's voice breaks her out of her thoughts, has her swiveling around to face him. "I don't think we're going anywhere."

Her forehead creases. "What?"

He turns his attention elsewhere, nodding towards the glass windows a ways ahead of them, and her gaze follows his, eyes widening as she watches the snow come down quickly, large, wet flakes colliding against the glass at every angle. The ground is completely covered and it looks to be picking up with each passing second, the fluffy white substance sticking to the roads instead of condensing upon impact as it had been doing earlier when they arrived.

"It's getting pretty bad out there," he points out, and she just purses her lips as if to say _really?_ "I don't know if we want to chance it."

She stops just short of letting out a low groan. Do they want to chance it? She's not too sure about Castle, but she just wants to leave, get out of here and back to the precinct so they can wait for their suspect's plane to take off again. Realistically, _should_ they chance it? No, probably not. The roads look awful, painted with both ice and fresh snow, and there doesn't seem to be a plow in sight yet—having many past experiences with northeast storms, she knows there probably won't be one for a while, either.

The cruiser isn't exactly known for its stability in the snow to begin with, and she doesn't even want to think about how little traction the tires would actually offer them on the roads right now.

Basically, they're stuck.

Her shoulders deflate. "You're right," she agrees, albeit reluctantly, and moves to step up next to him. "Or we could make a quick break for it and hope for the best?" His brows shoot up, eyes on her, and she lets out a small laugh. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"It won't be _that_ bad," he tries to reason, a grin on his face.

"Really, Castle? Stuck in an airport a week before the holidays, which means it's prime time for chaos, and now we're no further on our case than we were this morning because the guy's grounded in Chicago. That's not bad?"

He grimaces when she puts it like that. "Okay, so it's not _good_ ," he amends, sighing as he casts another glance towards the winter wonderland building up outside. "But there's not much we can do about it now."

This sucks.

"I have to call the guys, let them know this isn't going to be as cut and dry as we'd hoped."

She moves away, stepping into a small alcove that's more secluded as she makes the call. The boys are, understandably, annoyed that they won't be getting their hands on the guy tonight, but promise they'll tell Montgomery that they're snowed in until further notice. She almost feels bad about leaving them with most of the paperwork for tonight—since she'd normally pick up a lot of it by staying late—but then she remembers that they owe her for a favor she'd done for them a week or so ago, and the guilt slowly begins to fade. They can handle the paperwork.

Besides, she's pretty sure being stuck in an airport is worse than being stuck with a few extra files.

Castle's fiddling with his phone when she sidles back over to him. "You let Alexis know?"

His head lifts. "Yeah," he says, waving his phone in his hand. "She's studying for her finals right now, so I don't even expect her to see the text for a while."

She nods, knowing by now that when Alexis is worrying herself with schoolwork she dives head first, doesn't come up until she's content with what she's gotten done. It's not like she knows the girl all that well, only really been around her the few times she's gone to the loft or when the teenager came to the precinct to help out, but she's garnered enough information through Castle.

"She'll be just fine."

"Yeah, she will," he says, his eyes trained on her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips in a look that's too soft. But then it's broken, his gaze moving just past her. "We should find a place to sit before they're all taken."

Taking a deep breath, she nods.

"Lead the way," she drawls, gesturing ahead of her with a wave of her hand.

* * *

"Castle, stop moving."

The movement stops for a few seconds, but then he shifts again. "I'm not exactly great at sitting still."

Beckett snorts. "You don't say," she deadpans.

They've managed to find a little area against a back wall on the other side of the terminal to claim as their own while they wait out this storm. It's near another narrow alcove, similar to the one she sought silence in to make her phone call before, and there are only a few others huddled nearby, a stark contrast to the main floor where the majority of passengers have decided to congregate.

There are a few teenagers with their arms crossed, looks of pure disgust on their faces at the inconvenience of being grounded here. She has to bite back the smirk that threatens to break when she thinks about how they remind her of herself; she had the same look on her face many a time when she was younger and had her flights delayed. The teenage angst is a true staple of crowded airports.

Directly to her left is a kid, probably around eleven, leaning against his father, and lining the wall past them is a larger hoard of adults with their bags pressed against their sides, legs either stretched out or curled to their chests. Castle, on the other hand, is sitting to her right, his head lolled back against the wall and his phone balanced on his kneecap.

Though their little corner is off to the side, she still has a nice vantage point of the rest of the terminal. She may not have any reason to be on alert right now—given that their current suspect is living it up in the Chicago airport much like they are here—but the cop instincts don't just switch off.

It'd be easier if they did.

It's exhausting, and she wishes she could just turn down the cop right now, give herself the opportunity to sit back and relax without constantly being on edge, without watching the people around her as if one of them is a hardened criminal lying in wait. Realistically, she hardly thinks that the toddler waddling a few feet away or the elderly man sitting in a chair towards the front are looking to pick pocket someone.

What she'd give to be blissfully ignorant, if only for a few minutes so she could recharge.

"How long has it been?" Castle asks, his voice just short of a whine.

Her eyes roll, but she looks down at her watch anyway. It's just before four. "An hour. It's been an hour."

"How long do you think it'll be until the storm lets up?"

Shrugging, she lets her shoulder drop against the wall. "Hopefully? Within the next few hours. Probably?" Her head follows her shoulder, rolling against the wall in lieu of an actual reply.

But he gets it.

He sighs. "It could be worse," he says finally.

Turning her head towards him, she gives him a look. "And how is that?"

"You could be alone."

There's a grin on his face and she can't help the tiny curve of her lips that comes out in response. "I don't know, Castle, if I were alone there wouldn't be a pair of feet jerking against my leg." His feet freeze in their spot and his mouth opens immediately. She recognizes that giddy look. "Don't," she warns.

"You're just too easy, Beckett."

It wasn't long ago when an arch of her brow and a glare would've had him spluttering, rushing to explain that he doesn't think _she's_ easy. But he knows her too well now, knows her tells, and can distinguish—usually—the glares that mean he's actually in some sort of trouble from the thinly veiled, harmless glares.

Now is definitely one of those times.

The subtle twinkle in her eyes gives her away.

"I can't help it if you get off on putting words in my mouth," she quips in return, taking pleasure in the hitch of his breath.

She rolls her head back with a chuckle, breaking the gaze they've been holding.

On second thought, it might have been better if she _was_ alone. Alone she wouldn't have to face the thoughts circling inside her head about how, despite the displeasure of being stuck in the airport to begin with, she doesn't actually _mind_ having Castle as her blizzard buddy, when a year ago—hell, a few months ago even—she'd have been fuming, practically foaming at the mouth at the mere prospect of this very same situation.

He's oddly quiet and she's genuinely surprised when he doesn't return with another equally inappropriate comment. It's what they do; the banter, the teasing, the innuendos. His silence is concerning, but she doesn't twist to face him, doesn't have to see the look on his face to know that he likely looks like a deer in the headlights.

"Attention all," a voice over the loudspeaker booms, saving her from having to break the silence. "As most of you have already guessed, given the current weather outside and subsequent predictions for a full on blizzard, all flights have been delayed until further notice. Many of the roads have yet to be plowed, so it is best if you all stay put." There's a collective symphony of groans from everyone in the room. "While we can hope it clears quickly, it seems as though you'll all be here for the night. Please act accordingly, and enjoy your evening."

 _Enjoy your evening_. Yeah, sure.

"Looks like we'll be stuck here a bit longer than we thought," Castle chimes in as he stretches his legs out, the fabric of his jeans rustling against hers.

It's going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

Another two hours pass and it's about around six when people in the terminal start going stir crazy.

"This is why I don't travel during the holidays," she mutters on an exhale.

Her gaze follows a variety of their fellow prisoners, watching as they yell into their phones, complaining—very loudly—about the delays in the flights, about whatever festivities it is that they'll be missing. She can't help but wonder what exactly they'd be missing a week _before_ Christmas, but figures at least a handful of them are actually important events and not just wine tasting excursions. Four people have already voiced their great displeasure about the snow making them delay their vineyard trips.

Must be nice.

Castle laughs. "This is nothing. I once had to fly out on Christmas Eve," he says, giving an exaggerated shudder. "Now _that_ was a nightmare."

He's still sitting beside her, though his legs have since stilled, jeans no longer rustling against her own. It's surprising how... _calm_ he's being. But then she looks over, notices the hands that he can't seem to stop from fidgeting, and she realizes that he's faking it, likely for her benefit so he doesn't keep brushing up against her as he had been.

"You can get up and move, Castle," she points out with a chuckle, a brow raised.

"I'm okay."

Her head swivels to face him. "You're twitching."

In lieu of an actual reply, he just lifts himself from the floor, bracing his hands on the wall to steady his legs. His arms reach behind his back as he puffs his chest out, stretching the limbs that he's been trying so hard to keep still for the past hour.

"Rickety limbs there, grandpa?" she jokes, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth to hide a smirk.

His mouth drops open. "Not funny, Beckett. I'm not as young as I used to be."

She snorts. "Obviously." He gives an exaggerated pout and she rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, Castle. Getting old is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not _getting old_. I'm just... a ruggedly handsome man who happens to be aging. Slowly and gracefully."

"If you say so," she returns, lengthening her legs out, leaning over until her hands are gripping at her ankles to stretch her back.

He looks down at her. "I will look past this indiscretion, but only because we've been stuck in this airport for over three hours. The condensed air is clearly getting to your brain."

She huffs. "Clearly."

Standing up straighter, he glances around the terminal. There are a few restaurants within their general vicinity, but he's never heard of any of them, doesn't know what kind of reputation they have. He does know, however, that there's a nice little diner in Terminal C. This is far from being his first time in this particular airport and he's had his fair share of poor run-ins with eateries that haven't been up to par, so during one of the last trips he and Alexis took it upon themselves to scout out the more acceptable options.

The diner has come out on top every time.

"Are you hungry yet?"

She blinks. "Hmm?"

"Food," he repeats. "You know, that stuff you're supposed to consume three times a day but rarely do?"

Her eyes narrow as she glares at him. "I eat just fine, Castle," she says, even as she tries to remember the last time she ate. Earlier, probably, before she arrived at the precinct. She vaguely remembers grabbing a muffin from her kitchen counter before leaving for the body drop. Okay, so maybe he has a point. "What's on the menu?"

He grins, holding out a hand for her. "There's a nice diner in Terminal C."

"We're in Terminal A," she points out, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her up from the floor. Once she's standing, she brushes off the dust from her pants, sliding a hand over her shirt to flatten out some wrinkles. "I'm sure there are places to eat here."

"There are," he nods, "but I don't know how good they are. I know how good this place is. Besides, we're only a short walk from C anyway."

She honestly doesn't have much of a craving for anything specific, so she just nods back, gestures in front to give him the lead.

"What's this?" he gasps, turning to her with wide eyes. Her eyes dart to his, concerned that something's wrong, when he lets the smallest hint of a grin peek out. "Kate Beckett giving _me_ the lead?"

The back of her hand collides with his chest. " _Don't_ do that," she chides, reveling in the look on his face as he soothes the afflicted area. "You're the one who knows where we're going, Castle."

A smirk still finds its way onto his face. "December 15th, 2010, the day I was given the pleasure of heading our trek."

"I'll leave you here in this airport," she warns.

"You wouldn't." She quirks a brow, gives him a look. "Okay, so you would."

Rolling her eyes, she does her best to avoid giving in to the grin that wants to take over, biting the inside of her cheek to keep it at bay. Castle continues walking, no longer talking, but she can still see the giddy smile on his face.

He's like a elementary school child who's been appointed as line leader.

They pass a number of interesting sights on their way to the terminal of choice, including men in spiffy business suits, all talking in rushed manners into their bluetooths. Castle nudges her shoulder as they walk by one of them, and she turns to find him imitating the man's mannerisms, his movements wild and dramatic. It gets her to laugh, causing her to stifle the sound with the back of her hand because they're still within earshot.

"Castle," she hisses, though there's no bite.

He's beaming beside her. "What?" he asks innocently, eyes sparkling as she continues to hold back her own grin.

"You know exactly what."

"Who travels in a _suit?_ " he questions instead, no longer denying his antics. "Even in first class, a suit is not an acceptable outfit for flying. Extremely uncomfortable."

She shakes her head. "Let me guess, you know this from experience?"

"Me? Absolutely not. I travel with class _and_ comfort, my dear detective." He waggles a brow at her. "I do, however, remember the one time I made the mistake of flying in dress pants and I still regret it."

"Oh, poor baby."

* * *

The diner is—as expected—fairly packed, with people lining the walls as they wait for their own tables. Decorations paint each wall, photographs and drawings in varying sized frames, as well as stenciled designs that dot the top of the wallpaper all the way around. It has a warm feel to it, something she maybe wouldn't have expected to get from an airport diner.

Unexpected, but pleasant.

Castle sits in a vacated spot on the cushioned bench that's joined to the wall, and his fingers wrap around her wrist, gently tugging her down into the spot next to him.

"We could be here for a while," he shrugs at her look, pulling out his phone moments later. "Care to play a game?"

She considers him. "What game?"

His smile widens, fingers tapping to open the folder with all of his downloaded apps. "Take your pick," he says, handing it over to her.

With the phone in her hand, she scrolls through the pages of games he has, not even remotely surprised by the fact that he has so many. He's always fiddling with one of them as he sits in his chair next to her desk, playing while she finishes the paperwork for the night. Not that he helps with _that_ , of course.

Her lips curve upwards when she stumbles upon one game she knows she can win. She taps the icon, waiting for the screen to pop up before she shoves the device back into Castle's lap. "Here."

"Oh, come on," he whines, his eyes leaving the phone to find hers. " _This one?_ "

She grins. "Scared you'll lose, Castle?"

Something on his face changes, the challenge giving him what she feels is a false sense of bravado, and he smirks.

"You're gonna hurt."

* * *

"Richard, party of two," the woman calls, effectively breaking into Castle's laser concentration.

"No," he groans, losing his focus and mis-aiming, pocketing the cue ball by accident. "No fair, she interrupted!"

Beckett barks a laugh, nodding to the woman to signal that they're coming before she turns back to Castle. His mouth is turned down in a frown and his forehead is creased, a look of shock and displeasure written all over it.

Seems as though _he's_ the one who's hurting, now, doesn't it.

"Come on, Castle," she cajoles, grabbing him at the elbow to tug him up. "I don't think you were going to change the outcome of this game anyway."

He huffs out a sigh, but lets her pull him until he's standing beside her. "You're a pool shark, aren't you," he whispers lowly as the two of them trail behind, following the woman to their table.

She smirks. "Some things are better left unsaid."

The reply dies on his tongue when they reach their destination and they're ushered into a corner booth. She doesn't miss the expression on his face, the look of awe and surprise when she doesn't deny her supposed second job. Cop by day, pool shark by night. His writer brain must be going wild with the endless possibilities.

She'll let him sit in his thoughts for a bit.

Their orders are placed quickly, the both of them just going for something simple that they already know they enjoy, for whatever seems appealing at first glance. She's not all that hungry, and neither of them want to hog the table for too long; when they got called back, there were still hoards of people squished together against the walls, waiting patiently—and impatiently, in some cases—for their own tables.

"This is... surprisingly good," she comments around a bite of her chicken parmesan. There's something about airport food that's always fallen pretty flat for her, but this is a pleasant surprise.

Grinning, he nods. "It is," he agrees. He's the one that recommended it to her when she couldn't choose between that and a burger. _A burger's so plain, Beckett_.

"How's yours?" she asks, glancing over at his plate of five cheese baked ziti.

"Excellent," he says, hesitating for a second before he looks down at his food and then to her. "You want to try it?"

The decline is on the tip of her tongue but he's already holding out a forkful of pasta, his free hand hovering beneath it to keep any from falling onto the table, so she just murmurs a small acknowledgement and leans in, allowing herself to just take the bite of food without thinking about it. She has to lean over the table to reach his outstretched hand, but she notices how he pushes himself closer to her as she moves, making it easier.

She pulls back once she's taken it, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews.

"That is really good, wow," she says, her voice muffled behind her palm. "Good choice."

He's still staring at her, hasn't moved his hand back yet, and she clears her throat, does everything she can to stifle the grin that wants to bloom across her face. She's pretty sure he didn't think she'd take the bait, wouldn't let him feed her. And she won't, not again, but she'll give him this one. Plus, the look on his face is reward enough, way too good to pass up.

"You'll catch flies with your mouth open like that," she quips, laughing when his jaw slams shut and he gives her a sheepish smile. "Just finish your food, Castle."

He finds his voice finally. "You too," he counters, nodding towards her plate, the contents only half eaten.

She pops a bite of chicken parm into her mouth with an arched brow. _Happy?_

Her eyes trail across his face and then behind him as she observes the others in the diner. It's full of the other poor souls who are stuck here right now; some singles, some couples, and then a decent number of families, too. There are a bunch of them all around the airport, frazzled parents trying to calm their kids down and keep them from bouncing off the walls.

But there's also a family of four sitting not too far from their own table, with a little girl that looks to be about four or five, and a baby boy sitting in a high chair, no more than a year old. The girl's standing in the booth, her father's arm wrapped around her middle to keep her from falling, and shoving a fry into her mouth when she makes eye contact with Beckett. The small blonde just blinks for a few seconds before breaking out into a wide grin. She's never been much of a baby person, kid either, really—she's never really had to spend much time around them—but the girl's adorable, and so she smiles back, telling herself it's because it would be rude not to and absolutely not because she's suddenly picturing the possibility of one of her own in a very distant future with piercing blue eyes.

"Smiling at your boyfriend, Beckett?" Castle jokes, taking note of the smile on his partner's face.

She ignores his comment and just rolls her eyes. " _No_ ," she drawls. "Your girlfriend, maybe."

He swivels around and she notices the moment he sees the little girl, who's now bouncing on her feet but still looking in their direction. "Oh, _hilarious_ , Beckett." She's grinning, tongue poking out between her teeth. "Let it go. Raina looked older than she was, okay."

"She was Alexis's _babysitter_. That's like, the plot of a million poorly scripted pornos."

His brows shoot up into his hairline, a wicked smirk on his lips. "Now, detective, I—"

"It's common knowledge," she cuts him off with narrowed eyes. "Do yourself a favor and let the rest of that sentence die."

He mimics zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, but breaks the seal by speaking a few minutes later. "So, you never did clarify..."

Huffing out a laugh, she rolls her eyes. "I'm not a pool shark, Castle."

* * *

Your interest in this little winter story makes me happy, so thank you all!


	3. Chapter 3

She begins to lose steam around nine, the consistent lack of sleep and proper meals finally catching up with her and knocking her down a few pegs.

Turns out that being stuck in an airport and doing practically nothing for six hours is more tiring than one would assume, especially when the general volume inside the terminal's gone up at least ten notches. It takes most of her energy to tune out the wailing of stir crazy children and frustrated parents, all mingling with the bellowing of angered patrons who just want to go home.

The feeling's mutual.

"You look awful."

Her head lifts from its spot against the wall. "Gee, you really know how to woo a girl, Castle."

He gives her a look. "You know what I mean," he drawls, doing a sweeping gesture around her person. "You've been going for how long now on this case? You look exhausted."

It's been four days.

Four days and this is the first solid lead they've had on this guy, and now it's down the drain. She hasn't been getting much sleep, admittedly, choosing instead to pour over the case files and the evidence they have in hopes of finding something, anything that they might've missed during the first couple of run throughs.

"I'm fine," she dismisses, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. Castle, of course, doesn't miss it, and now he's just staring at her. "Really."

He's not convinced. "Take a nap, Beckett. I'll be awake, it's not like anyone will mess with you."

"I'm not even that tired." False. "I'll be alright. Maybe we'll get to leave soon."

She tracks his gaze, follows it to the transparent windows where the snow is still falling, still piling up on the ground. The wind is picking up now, carrying the thick flakes through the air; it's almost impossible to see anything, everything obscured by the snow whirling around and covering its path.

"I don't think so," he comments after a few minutes of silent staring. "It's snowmageddon out there."

"Snowmageddon?"

He grins, nodding. "Mhm. Or, if you prefer, snowpocolypse."

She lets out a laugh, shaking her head. "Snowmageddon works just fine." A sigh escapes then, and she runs a hand over her face. "At least it's pretty," she muses, her eyes not leaving the scene before them.

It sucks that they've been trapped here for longer than she'd like, and she's sure she'd appreciate this even more if they _weren't_ , but she can't deny the beauty of it all. The white contrasting against the now darkening sky, the faint hints of green that pop out beneath the snow-covered branches.

"Yeah," he breathes, and she doesn't notice that he's stopped looking at the blizzard outside. "It really is."

For a while they just sit back and watch the snow fall, effectively tuning out the rest of the terminal. It's almost as if they aren't surrounded by hundreds of grumpy travelers.

At some point he shifts, propping his side up on the other end of the wall, and she moves closer until her shoulder is pressed up against his.

It's just because the terminal's getting chilly and he's a nice source of heat. That's all.

She feels herself dozing off and tries to fight it, tries to stay awake. This would be much more of a problem if her hair would stop falling into her face, rogue pieces tickling at her nose as they dislodge themselves from where she had them tucked behind her ear. She pushes them back, for a third time, and lets out an annoyed groan as she sits up.

"Do you want me to—to braid it for you?"

Her eyes snap to his. "What?"

"Your hair," he clarifies, pointing to the unruly mess that it's become. "Do you want me to braid it so it's not in your face?"

"I do know how to braid, Castle."

He nods. "Of this I have no doubt. But you're tired, so I'm offering."

She snorts, but considers him. "Do you know how to french braid?"

A hand comes up to his chest, a look of mock indignation on his face. "I'm offended, detective." She rolls her eyes, twisting her mouth to the side. "I do have a teenage daughter. Knowing how to do hair was very high up on the list of priorities in Chez Castle."

Her response is to shift her body until her back is to him, her legs curled up against her chest so as to avoid kicking anyone by straightening them out. When she doesn't feel anything happening behind her and is met with nothing but silence, she looks over her shoulder.

"You gonna work your magic or no?" she quips, grinning at the sparkle of joy in his eyes and the surprise written all over his face.

"Yes." He nods furiously. "Of course. Now turn back," he adds, making a spinning motion with his fingers until she swivels her head back around.

She hears him take a breath before his hands thread through her hair, tugging slightly to pull out as many knots as he can without hurting her. But then he seems to get more confident, parts the top of her hair into three sections and begins the braid, his fingers grazing her scalp with each swipe to grab more hair. She lets her eyes fall closed, and her head leans back ever so slightly into his hands.

In the past, she's never really been one to enjoy having her hair played with. Mostly because no one ever did it well, or they'd end up practically pulling her hair out of her head in the process. Castle's not playing with her hair, not really, but the feeling of his fingers gliding through it, caressing her head as he braids, is much more pleasant than she's willing to admit.

She only realizes he's stopped when she hears the, "alright, done!" from behind her, and she runs a hand over the back of her hair, fingers dusting over the neatly constructed braid.

"Not too shabby, Castle," she smiles back at him. "Thanks."

"Your resident hair stylist, at your service," he returns with an exaggerated bow. "Here for all of your hair needs."

She laughs as she re-positions herself, sliding back into the spot next to him. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Beckett..."

"What?"

He blinks at her. "Sleep?"

One of her hands come up to cover another yawn at the exact moment he mentions sleep, and she doesn't have to look at him to know that he's smirking at her. That infuriating, knowing, _smug_ smirk that tells her he knows he's right.

And dammit, he is.

"Wake me up in an hour," she decides, fixing him with a look, a brow raised.

"I'll wake you up at eleven."

It's a little after nine now.

"Ten, Castle."

"Ten thirty," he bargains, his own eyes narrowed. "You're running on no sleep, at least give yourself an hour and a half. It's not like we're going anywhere," he adds, once again waving at the windows. Still hasn't let up.

She groans. "Fine. Ten thirty," she acquiesces. "But no later, I mean it."

"Scouts honor," he salutes.

"You were never a scout."

"Semantics," he dismisses. "But I promise, ten thirty."

When she's confident that he'll actually wake her up in an hour and a half, she finally lets herself relax, sliding back down the wall and pulling her legs up to curl beneath her body. She pauses for a second before slowly bringing her head down to rest against Castle's side.

He stiffens for a second before dropping his shoulders. "I knew you couldn't resist," he jests, and even with her eyes closed she can hear the grin in his voice.

"Wall's not comfortable," she mumbles, situating herself until her head's in a suitable position against the fabric of his shirt.

There are no complaints from him, and she can feel her eyelids becoming heavier as she drifts off.

* * *

She dreams that Castle's running his fingers through her hair again, his hands trailing from her forehead and traveling down the back of the french braid. It feels good, incredible even, and the motions are soothing enough to keep her in a peaceful sleep despite the increasing volume of the terminal around them.

"Beckett." Her body shifts, her nose scrunching up adorably, but she doesn't wake up. " _Kate_."

Awareness creeps in when she feels someone jostling her shoulder, shaking her gently. Her eyes flutter open slowly and she blinks until her vision comes into focus, but something's... off.

Everything's sideways. Why is everything tipped over? This is not at all how it was when she fell asleep. Her head's on something soft, and she knows the fabric of Castle's shirt is soft but not _this_ soft.

She moves her head, rousing some more, and she realizes she's not leaning against his side anymore. She's lying down, and her head's resting on—she twists to look down—a pillow? There's a pillow under her head, and under the pillow is... Castle's lap. She has her head lying in Castle's lap, on top of a mystery pillow. When she twists some more, sitting up and bracing her hand on the floor to steady herself, she notices that there's a blanket draped over her body.

"Castle?" she murmurs, still not completely awake, but definitely confused.

"Morning," he grins down at her. "Or, well, night. It's 10:30, just like you requested."

She nods slowly. "Why am I in your lap? And where did—where did these come from?" she asks, fingers gripping at the edges of the blanket, holding it up for emphasis.

He gives her a sheepish smile. "I might've ran to the little shop over there to get them once you'd fallen asleep. You didn't look very comfortable," he adds as explanation. "Put the pillow on my lap and laid you back down, with the blanket."

She moves to sit up, extricating herself from his lap, and brings her legs up to her chest, the blanket still draped over them.

"Oh," she says, hands scrubbing at her eyes to wipe away the sleep. "It's 10:30?"

He chuckles, the sound low and rich. "10:37 now, but yes."

She lets out a breath. He bought her a blanket and a small pillow because she looked uncomfortable. But that also means— "What did you do, put me on the floor while you bought these?"

Grimacing, he scrunches his face up. "Yeah," he admits slowly, "but I was watching through the window the entire time! I made sure no one came over to bother you."

She has no doubts about that.

"Thanks, Castle," she says, and his mouth opens, a defense no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but she cuts him off. "No, really. Thank you. For the blanket, the pillow, and... you know, letting me fall asleep on you."

His face relaxes then, a laugh bubbling out. "Anytime, detective," he nods. "And that goes for using me as a pillow too. Always happy to oblige."

"Duly noted." She rolls her eyes, arching her back to stretch it. "I can't believe I didn't wake up when you did all of this."

He shrugs. "You were worn out. I don't blame you."

She's beginning to think that Castle running his hands over her hair wasn't actually a dream.

"Did you sleep at all?"

He shakes his head. "Unlike some of us, I've actually been getting a decent amount of sleep."

Her response is a half-hearted huff as she rolls her neck. "Any good coffee around?" she asks, looking at him through squinted eyes.

"Starbucks?"

Not her first choice, but she doesn't think they'll be getting much better around here. "Please."

He leaves and she stretches out her legs in the meantime, moaning when her knees crack in just the right way. She makes a mental note to at least switch positions every so often if she's going to sleep over here again. The floor and small space she's been crammed into have done her no favors.

"For the lady," Castle says, returning with their coffees, handing hers over to her carefully.

The corners of her lips tug upwards at the smell, the warmth that's now seeping into her palms. "Thank you," she breathes around the rim of the travel cup as she takes a sip.

She's not _cold_ , not particularly, but the coffee is sending waves of welcomed warmth throughout her body.

For the next half hour they sit there nursing their coffees, and neither comment when her body lists into his side once more.

* * *

Thank you all for your kind words, they're much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

They've since migrated from their small alcove, opting to stretch their legs and take a leisurely stroll through the terminals. In their home of the past nine hours, Terminal A, there are a few small restaurants—all of which got a stamp of disapproval from Castle, who claims they just don't _feel right_ , despite the fact that he's never actually stepped foot in any of them—and a couple stores, mainly stocked with little odds and ends.

And apparently minimal bedding supplies, considering that's where he'd gotten the ones she was using earlier during her nap.

Castle jumps onto the moving walkway, blanket and pillow tucked securely under his arm.

"You're supposed to move on those, Castle," she reminds, watching as he just stands and lets the belt take him. "That's why they're called _moving_ walkways."

He huffs, but starts walking anyway. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, it's not like there's anyone behind me." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hands while she trails beside the walkway, keeping her steps in time with his speed. "Come on, live a little."

She laughs. "No thank you, I'll pass."

When he reaches the end he hops off, far too energetic for her taste, but she thinks he's just running on adrenaline at this point. He hasn't slept at all and it doesn't seem as though they're getting any closer to being released; she can't remember a time when the snow's kept going for this long without stopping. It has to be some kind of record, she thinks.

It's beautiful, really, though she wishes she could appreciate it from the comfort of her apartment. Or at least the precinct.

They're in Terminal B now, taking long glances at each of the storefronts and food vendors they pass. There's something completely unappealing about some of these options, and she wonders briefly how there's a man willingly sitting in a small seating area, stuffing his face with some kind of corn dog. She has nothing against corn dogs, but it's so _late_.

This hardly seems like the time.

Castle's voice breaks her out of her momentary, confused-and-slightly-disgusted daze.

"Want something?" he asks, and she stops in her tracks, following his line of sight until she finds what he's looking at.

It looks like a small coffee shop, a mix somewhere between a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks but more... sophisticated? She's not really sure how she'd describe it, but it looks pretty nice for an airport.

The walls are wood paneling, as is the area up front near the desk, and there are at least ten unoccupied tables spread out on either side. To the right, it's bracketed by more wood detailing, large pillars that act as a barrier between the table area and the general hallway of the airport. To the left it has the same, but the tables sit in front of two large glass windows.

She nods. "Some more coffee sounds nice."

"Took a while there," he laughs, waiting until she's in step with him to enter. "Thought you were going to turn down coffee for a second, I was about to get worried."

Rolling her eyes, she leans into him, shoving at his shoulder with her own and laughing as he almost knocks off balance. The two of them make their way to the front area, where next to the desk is a glass case that showcases various different pastry options on three different shelves. Bear claws, apple strudel, at least six different kinds of muffins, scones, cupcakes, and even a few different pies and tarts. She'd had no intentions of getting anything to go with her coffee, but looking at these... she might just have to change her mind.

Castle seems to be thinking the same, his mouth practically watering as he hovers over the tarts.

"See something you like, Castle?"

His eyes lift to find hers, a sly grin on his face. "Yes, I—"

"In the display," she clarifies, cutting him off with a raised brow.

He sighs, his face falling dramatically, but nods. "This strawberry tart is calling my name. Do you hear it? _Buy me, eat me_!"

"I think whatever wires you still had up here have finally snapped," she remarks, poking his head with her finger and receiving a huff in return.

"Mock all you want, Beckett, but you'll be wishing you had a strawberry tart when you see how delicious mine is."

"Not if I just get one for myself, too," she points out, leaning up against the glass. She has no intentions of actually buying a strawberry tart, though, so she turns her attention back to the options in front of her. "I don't know, Castle, this snickerdoodle muffin looks like it'd give your strawberry tart a run for its money."

There's a sparkle in his eyes. "We'll see about that." He turns to the woman at the front desk, who couldn't look more disinterested if she tried—though she doesn't blame her; she'd look just as awful if she were stuck working here for the graveyard shift, especially during a blizzard. "I'll have two coffees, one grande skim latte two pumps sugar free vanilla, one extra cream and sugar. And," he draws out, casting one last look into the glass, "one strawberry tart and a snickerdoodle muffin, please."

She doesn't even realize he's ordered her stuff too until she hears mention of the muffin.

"Hey, Castle, I got it," she interrupts, going to dig into her wallet.

He shakes his head, pushing the money back towards her. "Absolutely not," he denies, ignoring her narrowed eyes. "Coffee's my duty."

"Your _duty_ ," she huffs, an annoyed hand on her hip even as she stuffs the money back. "I could've at least gotten the pastries then."

"Next time," he shrugs, though they both know that when next time actually rolls around he'll protest again. The woman returns with their order and he thanks her as she hands him the tiny bags and the coffees. "Now take your muffin."

She grabs the offending pastry from him with a murmured _thank you_ and a shake of her head.

"Over here?" she asks, nodding towards the left side where the tables sit in front of the windows.

He nods and they make their way over, pulling out the chairs and sitting down, placing their drinks and desserts on the surface. Is it still categorized as dessert if they're eating it at—she looks down at her watch—midnight? How is it already midnight? It feels like it was just ten thirty and she was lying in Castle's lap, napping and being shaken awake by the man in question.

They choose the table closest to the window, the one that's sitting right in front, and so they get an unobscured view of the world outside. Everything's white, but it seems to have let up ever so slightly, and through the whiteout they can see the dark sky peeking out, hints of gray from the clouds casting shadows above the city.

Castle brings the tart to his mouth, struggling when one of the strawberries falls off the top.

She rests her elbow on the table, covering her mouth with her hand to hide a grin. "It's like you've never had a tart before, Castle."

He groans. "It's not my fault! This tart has a vendetta against me, it's not cooperating," he mumbles, lowering his voice as he glares at the pastry. "I know you don't want to be eaten, but that's just too bad."

She laughs, can't resist this time, and she watches as his lips quirk upwards too. Uncurling the top of her little brown bag, she pulls her own muffin free, placing it on one of the napkins she'd grabbed on her way over.

"You hear from Alexis?" she asks.

Another strawberry falls from his tart and she chuckles as he tries to salvage it. "Yeah, I forgot to tell you," he nods, dabbing at his face with a napkin. "She finally texted back a few hours ago. Finished her studying for the night early, surprisingly."

She nods. "That's good. Why'd you have to tell me?"

He grins. "Because I told her we were stuck and she told me not to drive you crazy, but then she also said, and I quote, 'Tell Detective Beckett not to let you run wild. We both know what happens when you have free reign.'"

A loud huff of laughter escapes her throat, and her lips split into a wide grin. "I can only imagine what warranted that," she teases, shaking her head. "And you _forgot to tell me_. I could've known what I was getting into earlier."

He clicks his tongue. " _Getting into?_ You wound me. I'm very pleasant, very calm company," he argues lightly, his brows waggling at her.

"Sure, Castle," she drawls. "You're about as calm as this blizzard right now, but okay."

She gets up to dispose of a pile of wet napkins, covered in coffee that she'd spilled—turns out she's not as graceful after so many hours trapped in an airport, fatigue washing over her and all of the nerves in her body on edge.

"I think I went a bit overboard on the strawberries," he admits a few minutes later, dropping the other half of his tart onto his flattened out brown bag.

"Too much?"

He nods. "Too much. Delicious, but too much," he sighs, staring down at it. "So much strawberry."

" _Strawberry_ tarts do tend to go a bit heavy on the strawberry, I'd say," she laughs, then turns her attention to the half eaten muffin in her hands. "But I think I'm also tapping out."

The snickerdoodle muffin is good, delicious even, but it's late and she's pretty sure her body is now rejecting the pastry in favor of more coffee. Because, of course, that's already pretty much finished.

She looks at him and quirks a brow when his eyes light up, a smile on his face. "Switch?"

"Switch?"

"Your muffin for my tart," he clarifies, shoving his, bag and all, in her direction. "We shouldn't let them go to waste, and we're both obviously sick of the one we chose."

Ignoring the mischievous glint in his eyes when he says _your muffin for my tart_ and the obvious innuendo hovering just at the surface of that statement, she accepts his trade, pushing her muffin towards him and grabbing the bag to pull his closer to her.

After they finish each other's pastries of choice and their coffees, Castle goes to stand, already moving towards the register to order more, but Beckett stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"Nope," she says, shaking her head. "I'm getting it this time."

"But—"

Her eyes narrow into a glare. "No buts," she says firmly, releasing his wrist and pointing to the chair. "Sit."

He holds her stare for a few seconds before he relents, taking his seat back with a sigh. It's past midnight and she's still intimidating, even exhausted and clearly worn out. Unfair, that's what this is.

But she returns with two fresh coffees, sets one in front of him, and it's worth it.

Hers sits right under her nose, but she doesn't drink it right away, just rests her head in her hand and lets the smell waft into her senses. Maybe, just maybe, this second cup of coffee will jolt her body and keep her alert, awake. Because right now she's feeling the inevitable crash, the drowsiness setting in even stronger than it was earlier.

The nap did her some good, but it's been hours since then and now it's all coming back, her body demanding more.

"You okay?"

His concerned voice breaks through whatever haze it is she's walked into. She hadn't even realized her eyes had fallen closed.

"Hmm?" She blinks, watching his brows raise. "Oh, yeah, I'm good."

"You're exhausted," he throws back, but his tone is soft. "Why don't you rest again?"

He purposely avoids the words nap or sleep, mostly because he values his life and knows she'll disagree before he even utters the words. Rest is much more neutral, much safer.

She shakes her head. "No, I've gone longer than this without sleep while on cases. I'll be fine."

Again, he's not convinced, but he doesn't comment. He just nods, knowing the odds of getting her to sleep again are extremely slim, and opts instead for nudging her coffee towards her in a silent gesture. She takes it with a small, tired smile and continues to drink it slowly.

With any luck, she'll be energized after this.

They spend what feels like the next hour just sitting at their table, a companionable silence between them as they gaze out the window. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, the movement of the trees, the snow colliding with the leaves, the brave souls—workers, no doubt—who can be seen walking around below.

The coffee doesn't give her the results she'd hoped for and her eyelids continue to grow heavier, but she peels them open, forces herself to focus on the fat balls of snow that keep falling around them. Out of the corner of her eyes she can see Castle, doing the same as she is, with his chin propped in his palms and a soft smile on his face.

It might not be how she thought she'd be spending the night, but she doesn't find herself complaining.

* * *

Again, you're all incredible, thank you.


	5. Chapter 5

They've made their way back through Terminal B and returned to their earlier home of Terminal A, having found a different but equally decent vacant area a bit farther away from the entrance than their previous one.

She continues to fight a battle with her eyelids for the next hour and a half, trying to keep them open as best as she can, but it's a battle she knew from the beginning that she was likely to lose. Her body is well acquainted with late, sleepless nights—she's accustomed to that, knows she can handle it most of the time—but she also knows that once she's tired, _really_ tired, there's not much she can do. She crashes, and the caffeine does little to help beyond this point.

So when Castle wordlessly hands her the blanket she doesn't object, just rolls her eyes and gives him a ghost of a smile. "This is not a defeat."

He laughs, raising a hand. "Of course not. Now take your _not defeat_ and rest. I'll wake you up if anything happens."

She should just lean against the wall like she had in the beginning, curl her legs up into her body and settle in that way. It's much easier now with the small pillow that Castle's so graciously given her, so there's really no excuse; the wall isn't comfortable, no, but with the added cushion it'd be just fine.

And yet she decides against it, pushes the boundaries a little more—a lot of that's been happening during this little excursion, she realizes—and angles her body the opposite way, shifting until she's up against Castle's side, her head resting gently on his shoulder.

Castle doesn't even try to hide a grin when she settles down, watching as her legs are pulled beneath her for a more comfortable position. He tries to keep his breathing as steady as he can, given the situation, so he doesn't scare her away or disturb her.

He steals the occasional glance down at his partner, watching her eyelids flutter as she sleeps. Rogue pieces of hair have fallen into her face, small curls tickling at her nose, lifting a little with each breath she takes. The majority of her hair's since escaped from the neat braid he'd done for her so many hours before, and he wants so badly to just take it all out and run his fingers through it.

His phone serves as a fairly decent source of distraction for a while—he managed to find a kind woman who was willing to let him borrow her charger for half an hour, until his phone was up to a more acceptable percentage—but even the games fall flat after so long, after so many attempts.

He covers his mouth with his palm as he tries to stifle a yawn, but he can't deny that he's feeling the effects of their day. It's been manageable for the past few hours, and he's been able to keep it at bay with the help of coffee and walking around, but now he's just _tired_. And bored.

Tired and so, so bored.

There's only so much one can do in an airport before they run out of steam.

Looking towards the windows, he watches as the snow continues to cascade down, though now it's simmered into a lighter haze. No longer is there the whiteout blizzard that was taking the city by storm—no pun intended—and delaying flights for hours on end. It even looks as if it might begin to clear up soon, but that's still only wishful thinking at this point.

Plows can be temperamental and extremely unreliable.

As his eyelids begin to feel heavy, he takes one last look down at the sleeping detective next to him, and sighs. Her breathing's evened out, he's almost positive she's fully asleep now, and so he stretches out his arm and loops it around her shoulder, tugging her closer into him without jostling her head's position. With his hand on her shoulder, he gently leans his own head down to rest on top of hers.

His fingers run lazily through the ends of her hair as his eyes fall closed.

* * *

"Attention, Terminal A inhabitants," a voice booms over the loud speaker, _loud_ being the opportune word because it's just _so loud_.

Castle's eyes shoot open when he feels the previously-sleeping detective beneath him jerk awake, her head lifting at the sound.

"It's been a long night, but I'm happy to inform you that the storm seems to have passed over now and flights should begin getting the okay to fly within the hour. Please check in with the front desk if you have any other questions, and thank you all for staying as calm as possible during this time."

She groans, willing her heart rate to return to normal once the shock of the PA system interruption has subsided, and sits up straighter, rolling her neck as she rubs at her eyes. The more she rubs, the more she realizes she's probably removing an entire day's worth if under eye concealer, can only imagine what damage these sleepless nights have added to her already fairly prominent bags.

But she can't find it in her to care right now.

"I guess the storm's cleared," Castle mumbles, voice raspy as his fists rub at his own eyes.

Nodding, she covers a yawn with the back of her hand. "Guess so," she concurs, pushing her shoulders back to stretch her back. "What time is it?"

Castle squints down at his phone, hastily turning down the brightness until his eyes adjust—the small area they've inhabited this time is a bit far off, has less lighting than the main floor. "4:03," he groans.

"Thirteen hours," she muses, shaking her head. "We've been here for _thirteen hours_."

He mutters a response but she doesn't quite catch it, just watches as he runs a hand through his hair and shakes it out. Hair. God, her hair has got to be awful. She reaches a hand behind her head, fingers trailing along the braid that was once neatly constructed but has since become a mess.

Her eyes fall to the windows where, as the staffer on the loud speaker said, the storm seems to have settled. There are still a few flurries here and there, falling in a hap-hazardous manner, but it's much tamer than it was earlier. She takes a few seconds to gather herself, blinking until she's content with the state of her vision and general disposition, and then she turns to Castle.

"We should get going," she comments, pushing herself off the floor to stand.

He blinks. "Yeah," he nods after a minute, using his hands on the wall to help him get up. "Better leave before the storm decides it wants to come back. I'd really rather not sleep on the floor all night."

She laughs, lifting her arms above her head as she arches her back. "That'd be our luck." Bending down, she picks up the blanket and pillow, tucking it beneath her arms. They're so soft she kind of just wants to put them back down and pass out, but she'll be able to do that soon enough. "Come on."

He follows her through the terminal and towards the exit, but he stops just short of the doors. "Beckett." She swivels on her heel, gives him a questioning look. "There's one thing we didn't take into consideration."

"What?" she asks, taking a few steps until she's standing in front of him again.

"The cruiser," he says, nodding outside. "It's buried in at least two feet of snow right now."

Her eyes widen as what he's just said registers. Shit.

"Oh," she groans, cursing herself for not having thought of that. Of course the cruiser's buried. A ridiculous blizzard just blew through, covering everything in its path, including her car.

"Do you happen to have a shovel in the backseat?"

She opens her mouth, about to reply with an affirmative, but then it closes. "No."

There _was_ a shovel in the cruiser, but the one in Espo's disappeared and she'd given it to him to scrape some ice off his windshield. Or something similar. She'd told him to just give it to her later, but later never came, they both forgot about it, and she still doesn't have it back.

"I'll call a car," he says then, digging in his pocket for his phone. "We'll come back and get the cruiser tomorrow."

She's too tired to even argue with him so she waves a hand, nods, and waits as he calls his guy.

He turns back to her after he hangs up. "He'll be here in ten minutes," he tells her, and she lets out a breath. "We can wait by the doors."

* * *

The car arrives twenty minutes later, a ten minute delay caused by the road's still icy state.

They venture outside, the bite of the air immediately rushing through the both of them, causing their arms to curl at their chests for added warmth. Beneath their shoes the ice cracks, screams against the pressure, and they do their best to keep from sliding.

It seems as though the news of flights getting the okay has spread, because the drop off area is swarming with people, all far too eager and _awake_ for 4:30 in the morning, but thankfully they get to bypass the chaos and begin to make a beeline for the parking lot where the car's waiting for them.

There's still a light snow shower coming down, and Beckett slows her pace until she comes to a full stop, leaning her head back, facing the sky.

Her lips quirk into a tired smile as she takes a deep breath, reveling in she scent of the fresh snow as snowflakes continue to fall, colliding with her skin, catching on her tongue when she opens her mouth. She really has always loved the snow, the smell that comes along with it, and despite their situation for the past thirteen hours, this time is no different.

With one last deep breath she opens her eyes, lowering her head, and comes face to face with Castle's awed blue eyes, his slight smirk. She gives a shy smile in return, nodding behind him to where the car awaits, and follows his footsteps.

"Thank you for coming so late, Benny," Castle says in greeting as they reach the car, where an older brunette man is holding open the back door. "I really appreciate it."

Benny shakes his head. "Not a problem, sir," he says, then turns to nod at Beckett. "Detective."

She gives him an appreciative smile as she slides into the backseat, immediately listing her body against the far door. Sleeping is not an option, not right now, because she's far too aware that if she dozes off she'll be even worse off when she has to wake up in another twenty minutes.

Castle slides in after her, taking the seat on the opposite side and leans forward when Benny steps back into the car.

"Back to the loft, please."

Beckett's head whips around to him, brows scrunched. "Castle, no," she says, shaking her head. "I'll go home, Benny."

"Beckett."

"Castle," she returns.

He turns to her, giving her a small smile. "It's 4:30 in the morning. The loft is closer." Her mouth opens to protest, but he holds his hand up. " _And_ , you don't have a car. How do you plan to get back here from your apartment, and then to the precinct?"

"There are these things called cabs," she points out, her lips pursed.

He shakes his head. "It makes no sense for you to pay for a cab when you can just stay in the guest room, and then the both of us can come back tomorrow and dig the cruiser out of its snowy grave."

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, but ultimately lets the corners of her mouth quirk upwards, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth.

He has a point; in reality, it's stupid to make Benny drive her home, and then have to pay for a cab tomorrow just to come right back. The loft _is_ closer, and the thought of how long it'd take to trek to her apartment in this post storm traffic is becoming more and more unappealing.

His guest room, however, is becoming more enticing—she still remembers how comfortable the bed is from when she'd stayed after her apartment blew up.

Just the mere thought of sinking into that mattress right now and drifting off to sleep is heavenly.

An exhale escapes her lips. "Fine," she concedes, giving him a small nod. "Loft it is."

His face breaks out into a triumphant grin. "To the loft please, Benny," he says once more, and the man gives him a nod in the rear view mirror.

* * *

She's not sure she's ever been this grateful to see the inside of Castle's home. Her entire body is exhausted, and the effort it takes to shrug out of her jacket and kick off her boots is almost embarrassing.

"There's an extra toothbrush in the bathroom upstairs," he says, nodding in the general direction of the second floor. "I'll get you something to sleep in?"

Her gaze falls, taking in the jeans and sweater she's been wearing all day, and then she lifts her eyes to his, murmuring an affirmative. She props herself up against the bottom of the staircase until he comes back, a pair of sweats and an over-sized t-shirt in his outstretched hand.

"These okay?"

She nods. "They're good," she confirms with a smile. "Thank you."

His response is a twinkle of the eyes and a stifled yawn. "You need anything else?"

Shaking her head, she lets out a soft laugh. "No. No, this is great," she assures him. "All I need is to change and collapse into bed."

"I'll let you get to that, then." He takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair, already starting to turn away, head back into his bedroom. "Until tomorrow, Beckett."

He's halfway through the living room when she rolls her eyes at herself.

"Castle," she calls out, watching him stop and turn back around. She takes a few strides until she's standing in front of him, taking in the confusion buried within his eyes, just under the surface.

She lifts herself on the balls of her foot and places a chaste kiss to his cheek, before pulling back and chuckling at the stunned expression now painting his features, the wonder in his eyes unmistakable.

He just blinks at her, and she's not even sure he registers that she's already walking away, but then he grins, tired eyes crinkling around the edges, and her heart beats a little faster. Her head twists, turning to look over her shoulder one last time as she starts up the stairs, the corners of her mouth turning up into a soft smile for him.

"Night, Castle."

* * *

Thank you all for coming on this little journey with me. I hope you've enjoyed it, and for those of you who celebrate, Merry Christmas!


End file.
